


Day 11- Psych 101, Struggling

by Fight_Surrender



Series: Whumptober 2020 [7]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domestic Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, M/M, Married Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Mechanics, More Fluff, Post-Canon, Simon works on his car, Slice of Life, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Loves Simon Snow, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26993269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fight_Surrender/pseuds/Fight_Surrender
Summary: Just a random day in the Snow-Pitch household. Simon attempts to change the oil in his Mustang for the first time. Baz looks on and offers his opinions.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Whumptober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950466
Comments: 10
Kudos: 92
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Day 11- Psych 101, Struggling

**Author's Note:**

> So the prompt was "struggling." I was trying to think of something difficult to learn, and was going to write about Simon trying to learn to knit, but I know fuck-all about knitting. Somehow the car idea hit, and I basically interviewed Mr. Fight Surrender about things that are difficult/frustrating about working on cars (one of his hobbies). All of the car stuff came from that discussion. 
> 
> As usual, I am compelled to tell you that this is unbeta'd so pardon my typos and grammatical weirdness.

“Simon, we can afford basic car maintenance.” I lean against the garage door frame. All I see of Snow is a pair of filthy jeans and boots emerging from under the car. _He just started this project, how is he already so dirty?_

“Yeah, but that’s not the point,” Simon mutters. His voice muffled by a maze of gears and _parts_.

“Is that even safe?” The Mustang is raised on a series of jacks. Or stands. Jack stands? I love cars, don’t get me wrong. I love what they do, how they look. I don’t much care for the nuts and bolts and machinations that make them run though. That’s what service centers are for.

“It’s safe. I watched a YouTube video,” Simon’s disembodied voice assures me. I am not assured.

“I’m not ready to be a widower yet. Despite how good I look in black.”

There’s a metallic clang, “ _Fuck_ ,” Snow exclaims.

That gets me kneeling by his legs, peering at him. “Are you all right?”

Simon shakes his hand, hissing. “Yeah—it’s just—” his face is screwed in concentration as he struggles to turn? Torque? Manipulate? Some tool. His biceps are positively bulging. “I can’t—get this—” The tool slips, “Merlin’s fucking balls. This filter wrench is bollocks. I need different one.”

“You seem to have purchased quite a lot of tools for this job. How are you saving any money on this?”

“It’s not about the money, it’s about the experience. The satisfaction of learning a new skill.” Simon looks painfully earnest, and also ruggedly lovely. There is a smear of grease on his cheek. 

Snow resumes his attack on the car. The tool he’s using is a black rubber strap attached to a handle. I can think of other uses for it. My mind starts to spool in a decidedly more lascivious direction when Simon curses again. I smell warm popcorn, thick and salty. “Are you bleeding, Snow?” I crane my neck to get a better look.

“It’s fine, just scraped my knuckles.”

“It’s not fine, what about the burn from earlier?” _This is getting ridiculous_.

“Well now I know not to remove the drain plug on a hot car, don’t I?” Simon is laser focused on his task as if he were fighting a dragon. Creatures are few and far between these days, post Humdrum.

“There’s probably a spell for all this you know,” I admonish helpfully. Snow’s magic came back a year ago, at a much more appropriate level, but he hoards it like gold. The sting from its absence lingers, like a phantom limb. An afterburn.

“Waste of magic,” Snow grunts. _Stubborn git._ “Fuck this wrench. Grab that flat blade screwdriver will ya?”

“Where is it?”

“Toolbox, top drawer.” We’re people with a toolbox now. And a garage. Proper adults. I hand him the screwdriver. I feel that I should stay here and bear witness to Simon’s automotive journey of self-discovery.

“Fuck this fucking filter,” Simon grunts. He’s got both hands on the screwdriver and is pushing up into the bowels of the car. I hear two faint pops and he breaks into a grin. He turns the driver and removes a white cylinder that I can only assume is the fucking filter. He holds it like a prize.

“Babe?” I’m sitting cross legged on the grimy garage floor, next to the car. I’m wearing Simon’s trackie bottoms. He isn’t likely to notice an extra stain. I lean down to catch is eye.

Simon looks up from basking in his oil filter victory, “Yeah?”

"You’ve been burned, lacerated, and concussed in this little experiment."

“I’m not sure bumping my head on the tailpipe counts as a concussion, Baz.”

“Yes, but I’m still very concerned for your general wellbeing, Snow. When do I get to **_kiss it better_**?”

"I’m fine, Baz, really. I’ve just got to put in the new filter and add the—”

“I don’t think you understand, Simon. This whole—” I wave my hands at his general direction “—greasy mechanic thing is really doing it for me, so, I’m going to need you to hurry this operation up.”

Simon looks over at me then, sky blue eyes wide. A lovely flush that has nothing to do with his prior exertion creeps under his freckles. “Oh.” He says softly, grinning. Clear and easy. It took awhile, after everything, to find that smile again. Unshadowed. I can’t get enough of it.

“Chop, chop.” I urge, clapping for emphasis.

Snow’s smile widens. Radiant, like the sun. “Yes my love, I’ll be out in a jiff.” 

I settle down and watch. Making a list in my head of all the things I want to do to Simon Snow-Pitch.


End file.
